


Mortality

by necrobotanical



Category: Outer Wilds (Video Game)
Genre: come all, come one, did y'all want more midnight rambling about outer wilds?, i'm assuming hearthian bodies work vaguely the same as humans although ig that's a big assumption, it's disjointed! it's venty!, no?, to my (outer) wild theories about mortality, too bad here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrobotanical/pseuds/necrobotanical
Summary: A Traveller's last thoughts are always of home.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Mortality

Mortality is a strange thing.

When you think of it, it's in the same vague context as religion or the furthest reaches of the universe, the distant past and future. Something abstract, incomprehensible by nature, completely unfathomable with the context we have. Maybe it's for the best, that we can't entirely understand our own inherent fragility, or we'd never do anything. We'd never have left our quiet, warm seas, millions of years ago, if we'd understood just how terrifyingly easy it is to die.

Still, what is death? Is it the moment the brain stops functioning, the instant the electrical charges cease to pass through nervous tissue? Is it when we're forgotten? Does anyone ever truly die? If our stories, our thought processes are what make us alive then surely someone whose story is told, whose memory and legacy are carried forwards is as close to immortal as anyone can be.

For a lone traveller, staring up at a red sky, mortality is... optional? I'm not sure that's the right word. Optional implies a choice, I suppose, and it isn't like I had much of a choice in my situational immortality. If I'd known what would happen, would I have gone to the museum when I was first invited, three days ago? Would I have gone at all?  
I don't know.

Death is inevitable. It's something we're taught from a young age, here at the end of history. Spaceships crash and atmospheres change and planets move too fast or too slow and then, nothing. Another few sets of teary eyes, another person gently fading from memory as everyone else moves forwards. Another picture gathering dust in the museum. It seems harsh and, honestly, it is, but Hearthians are tough. We bond together. In our language, there isn't a distinction drawn between " _species_ " and " _family_ ".   
The planet I was born on is, in a word, tiny. My earliest memory is of climbing trees, behind the launch site, trying to reach the stars. Three small fingers blotting out millions of light years of space. When I fell, it was terrifying. I'd climbed further than I knew how to fall, further than I'd realised. I broke three ribs and my left leg, and almost broke my neck. I was lucky to survive. That was the day I decided, no matter what, I'd see those stars in person some day. I started training to be an astronaut three years later.

From where I'm sitting, just outside Esker's house, I can hear the panic as everyone begins to notice the sun. Esker doesn't panic, of course, because he's... well... _Esker_. I've never seen him show more panic than a mild shake of the head at a fallen sapling. He looks at me, and his eyes tell me that he knows that I've seen this before. The sympathy in them tells me that he knows that this won't be the last time. He doesn't say anything, he just settles comfortably beside the crackling fire, and starts to quietly whistle his song.   
Timber Hearth joins in.

I don't need my signalscope to know that every Hearthian in this solar system who knows what's happening has picked up their instruments and started playing that song we all know; I can hear it in my bones. Somewhere beyond time and space, there's a Nomai joining in too. I hope she isn't lonely. This song, that I've lived with my whole life, sings out between planets. A family's dying whisper to the stars that _we were here and we tried, we really did_. A species' last murmur to each other that _I'm here, you aren't alone, we're together_. 

And for the first time since these loops began, I join in.

**Author's Note:**

> SO I MADE THE NOT-MISTAKE OF WATCHING JACOB GELLER'S VIDEO ABOUT OUTER WILDS AND THEN LISTENING TO SOLANUM'S THEME ON LOOP  
> i wrote this in half an hour (once i'd finished crying). enjoy!


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